Once Upon a Time...

October 27, 2014

One More Try

After my last post about the record-breaking heat wave in Los Angeles, we had another record-breaking heat wave. It was unbelievably awful. I truly think I should be dead by now; I have to say there were more than a few times in the last couple of months when I wouldn't have minded dying all that much. There were some mornings when the worst moment was when I first woke up, only to realize an entire day again stretched before me, to be survived ... well, somehow.

Despite a few warm days here and there, the terrible heat is gone. But I feel considerably weaker than I did just six months ago, and it's harder for me to walk even very short distances. I think I'll probably end up in the hospital again sometime fairly soon. I continue to resist it mightily after my last soul- and body-rending hospital stay. But if I'm convinced a major crisis is upon me -- I've come very close to being convinced a number of times recently -- off to the hospital I shall go.

Meanwhile, at the age of 16 and two months, Cyrano appears to have entered the final stage of his life. I've seen it often enough by this time; I know what it looks like. And I'd thought that was starting to happen about four months ago; that was when I saw the first signs. But I'd hoped I was wrong. Sadly, I wasn't. I think we're talking about months now -- perhaps three or four, maybe a little longer, maybe sooner than that. Particularly in light of the other things I'm contending with, it feels like more than I can bear. Among the many joys of Cyrano's presence in my life, he's the lone companion who has been with me at every moment of my writing over the past 12 years, beginning in September 2002.

There is one group of articles I very much want to write. I've made a start; I've outlined several of them and begun writing the first one. They concern a critical aspect of Alice Miller's work that I feel I haven't explained sufficiently or effectively enough: the implications of Miller's identifications with regard to political matters. I think there are a number of misconceptions about the complex interrelationships of psychology and politics. Obviously, a multitude of issues in the political realm do not concern psychology specifically (d'oh!) -- but it is also true that, since politics is practiced by human beings, psychology is always present in one form or another. And Miller's work helps to clarify much that otherwise remains unexplained, at least in part.

I also want to address some other matters (some of them indicated in my last post), including some cultural/artistic issues. Among the latter is the phony, manipulated "controversy" about the Metropolitan Opera's production of The Death of Klinghoffer. In the midst of many aspects of that furor that were not at all amusing, there were a few moments of high hilarity.

So that's my plan, assuming body and soul hang together for a while longer. As difficult as it is for me to get anything done at this point, I realized this past weekend that I needed to get off my ass and do a few things since the first of the month is almost here again. I'll spare us all the boring repetitions (no source of income other than donations, etc., etc.), and simply note that if I have to move because I can't pay the rent, that will almost certainly be the end of me. I simply couldn't do it, financially or in any other way. And homelessness would certainly be it for me, The End. But right now, I have no funds for rent or the internet, or for a few other bills that must be paid. Any help that readers can provide would be received with great thanks and gratitude.

Some of you have been wonderfully generous. I cannot thank you enough. Given the non-existence of my writing for a number of months, I'm somewhat stunned by the kindness I've received. I don't know if it's because of work already done, work you hope to see done, or simply because you want to help a fellow human being in rather dire circumstances, or some combination of factors. And I'm not sure why I'm still here at all. But the habit of life is very strong in us; it's certainly very strong in me. I'm not one who believes that "everything happens for a reason"; sometimes (very often, in fact) shit just happens. But since I am still here, I want to make something of it, if I can. And I do feel that my work is not done.

Onward we go, stumbling, trying to find our way, muddling through. I shouldn't be presumptuous and say "we" in that way, but that certainly describes how I feel at the moment.

As always, many thanks for your thoughtfulness and kindness. I don't acknowledge it as much as I should, but rest assured, I never forget it.